yo wassup i'm dig
live by the sun love by the moon
Coming down off the nova somewhere near the boiled
egg that is the Royal Albert Hall, we watch Paul's sun crossed with
John's star and hold ice cream hands. Someone slipped on a cassette as
the one you wanted left with someone else but somehow it was cool
because as the music filled the shadows, you heard a sound that was a
million miles away from fakery and a step away from your heart.
Just like it always did, this sound puts the swagger back into your
step, the rush into your blood but somehow, and i don't know how, they
had become deeper, wider, soulful, better at their craft, inspired by
so many things like a word that is tilting who knows where, and the
applause they always knew was theirs but waited so impatiently to
receive. Words cut you from all angles, backed up by a monumental
sound that rises high, high, and high to crash against your rocks and
then changes, majestically and magically to soothe the wounds inside.
As you are dragged inside on this trip abandon, you hear a council
estate singing its heart out, you hear the clink of loose change that
is never enough to buy what you need, boredom and poverty, hours spent
with a burnt out guitar, dirty pubs and cracked up pavements, violence
and love, all rolled into one, and now all this.
At the end you flip over and start again because now you are not
isolated. They have gone to work so that you can go home. High above
the day turns pink and you feel your feet lift above the ground as new
roads open in front of you. In this town the jury is always rigged but
the people know. They always know the truth. Believe. Belief. Beyond.
Their morning glory.
-P.H in the summer of '95